(feat. Jadakiss, Ludacris)

[Intro: Jadakiss]
I need it from the top, AHHH!
This is history baby
Commissioner Steve Stoute, Lenny - ha!
God´s Son, whattup?
D-Block, whattup?
Bravehearts, whattup? Yeah
Yeah, yo

[Verse One: Jadakiss]
Yo ain´t nothin but trouble God
When I kick in the door with D-Block, Bravehearts and the Double R
Don´t make me let the machine off
This is methadone music that you can lean off
"Made You Look," the remix with me up on it
I copped your shit, now I break weed up on it
And everything is real I see
Like my niggaz that been home but they only got a jail ID
I helped the game, it ain´t help me
I´m top five dead or alive and that´s just off one LP
And, I still buzz, they feel cuz
Cause they know the flow´s Ill just like Will was
I´m just tryin to make sure that my sons wealthy
Out of shape but I make sure that my guns healthy
I´m a ape, you can´t stand ´Kiss
Comin through the hood in a Aston Vanguish the color of dandruff
They said we jumped him, I just let the gun snuff him
Copped P then turboed soon as they uncuff him
This goes out to all of your mans
Why put you in the verse when I can put in a coroner van
D-Block

[Chorus 2X: Nas]
THEY SHOOTIN! Ah made you look
You a slave to a page in my rhyme book
Gettin big money, playboy your time´s up
Where them gangsters, where them dimes at?

[Verse Two: Ludacris]
Yuh, woo! It´s time to go, Luda let´s go!

I´m from the school of hard knocks, sneak peeks and low blows
Where X´s mark spots and kitchens mark O´s
Where love is gon´ getcha and hate is gon´ snitch ya
And fingers squeeze triggers like boa constrictors
It´s the, Mr. Luda, Jada and Nas
And our bullets give you a deep tissue massage
So hear a song and dance while I make these ends
You never stood half a chance like Siamese Twins
AHHH - THEY SHOOTIN, look in the barrel
Then he made the front page of the Miami Herald
or Chi. Tribune, nozzles with silent doom
We in that A-Town Journal-list, filed with goons
You should print my information, quote my rhyme
And keep me in between these New York and L.A. Times
I was the victim of society, it´s ´Cris the menace
With mo´ shit out on the streets than evicted tenants
WOOOOOOOO!

[Chorus]

[Interlude: Nas]
Uhh.. uhh..
(BRAVE-HEARTS.. BRAVE-HEARTS.. BRAVE-HEARTS.. BRAVE-HEARTS..)
Jungle, Wiz, Nashawn!
We got ´em scared look
We got ´em scared they runnin

[Verse Three: Nas]
Yo, I grasp the ratchet, the blinker, the biscuit, the burner
The heat, the toaster, the twister you meetin your owner
The banger, the hammer, the flamers I aim at the cannons
and can ya, manhandlin ya, you´ll be famous like cancer do
And cut, that´s the end of your movie
Pretendin you actin like you and your mens´ll come shoot me
My tennis shoes Gucci, old school pea soup green
Jean Lee suit on Beaver, clicko champagne
Friday the 13th my CD drop, I rhyme to more Base than EZ Rock
I´m Jason, call up P.D. watch
them Bravehearts, Jungle and Wiz and Nashawn
Ill Will rasta Lake, never revealin his face on
TV or pictures or even them niggaz
Sorry that I made you wait long, glad them fakes gone
[beat scratches out]
WE SHOOTIN! Squeezin them triggers with Luda beside me
Me and ´Kiss get Luniz of weed, set to Styles P.
Tell him hold his head, God´s Son got him we made y´all look
From San Quentin to Riker´s Island to.. [fades out]